


Murmurs Over the Weary Sea, that Seems to Sing from Everywhere

by Mayori



Series: Theon Greyjoy AUs [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, I will probably settle on one ship later, M/M, Multi, Non-human Theon Greyjoy, Not Beta Read, Read at Your Own Risk, Self-Indulgent, Theon-centric, magical Theon Greyjoy, soooooo self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-01-15 11:32:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18498097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayori/pseuds/Mayori
Summary: Theon Harlaw, on the run from the Dark Lord, decides to take a stance. Only, when he wakes up, he's in the body of seven years old Theon Greyjoy and Balon has just bent the knee.OR: Something completely self-indulgent because I love HP!AU and I love Theon. I am not sure about the pairing; I will probably change it in the future.Title paraphrased from the poem the Sirens by James Russell Lowell.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

How it All Started

 

Theon Harlaw cursed under his breath and made a sharp turn to the right, narrowly avoiding slamming into a tree and breaking his nose. He tried to spur himself faster, the ridges of his wand’s handle digging into the soft flesh of his palm as he desperately gripped it tighter.

He tried to cast another spell, a simple _Lumos_ that he had mastered even before he went to school, but his wand remained unresponsive.

Useless. His magic was useless.  

But, there was a silver lining to that fact. If _he_ couldn’t use his wand, then neither could _they._ And he wasn’t like them, he was _different_ . All he needed to do was find a lake, a pond, a river, _any body of water_ , and he will be safe.

_Turn right, turn right, turn RIGHT!_

His blood was water, and it ran through his veins like a raging river, desperate to overflow and drown everything around it. The young man took another turn to the right, and he could see thin tendrils of light peaking from between the interlocking branches. When he broke through the thick line of trees, he barely took three steps before his foot was met with air.

Theon grabbed on a lone tree to stop himself from falling off the edge of the cliff. When he looked down from the rocky expanse, he could see the ocean waves kissing the white sands below.

 _Home_.

“Damn that half-breed!” He heard someone thunder from behind him. “When I catch him, I am going to -- I am going to--!”

“Watch your tongue before I tear it out of your mouth!” A familiar voice called out, angry and spiteful. “And what, exactly, are you going to do?”

Theon looked desperately at the waters below. He needed to get down there, he needed to get away from them before they find him.

He heard the sharp crack of breaking twig, and he turned around and came face to face with his uncle. His uncle gave him a cheeky one-eyed smile that made him feel naked and raw.

“Hello Theon,” Euron purred and Theon shuddered. “Why do you run, little Kraken?”

But Theon didn’t answer, his words trapped somewhere between the rising bile and his fast-beating heart.

The waves roared beneath them, as if the ocean could sense the tension in the air.

 _HoME_.

His uncle’s companion, a burly man with more hair than face, didn’t seem to be too impressed with the dark-haired man. “This _boy_ is the Dark Lord’s son?”

Theon met the large man’s sneer with a dark stare of his own. He was boiling hot with a familiar old hatred, yet at the same time, his heart fluttered in his chest with a fear that felt too close and too real.

Euron’s laughter was like a piercing _Crucio_ and Theon bit back another shudder, determined to remain strong. He was going to be strong, he was going to stand tall; for himself, for his mother.

“There might yet be hope for you yet, little boy.” He said, his hand reaching down to settle on the pummel of his sword. “Now come here so we can all go home, nice and easy.”

“You’re joking right? This shitty brat made us chase him for _weeks_!” The robust man protested, but Euron didn’t reply and he continued to watch his nephew with an animalistic glint in his uncovered eye.

Dread sank in his gut as his eyes followed his uncle’s arm. At the same time, he resisted the urge to giggle madly; who carried a sword around in the twenty-first century anyway?

“I am not coming with you.” Theon said and he blinked rapidly, surprised at his own daring. He repeated himself, his own words bolstering his confidence. “I am never going back with you.”

Rather than being furious, his uncle seemed amused at Theon’s unwavering statement. “And where exactly do you intend to go? You’re the _Dark Lord’s son_ , Theon -- the world is full of danger. Your mother learnt that the hard way didn’t she?”

Theon closed his eyes for just a moment, trying to remember his mother as she was and not as Euron implied. He tried, but the memory was too graphic, too soon for him to forget easily. He couldn’t think of his childhood home without thinking about the blood-stained walls. He couldn’t think of his mother without remembering her grey corpse, strewn on the ground like a battered ragdoll. He couldn’t look at his uncle without remembering how he looked that day, soaked in Alannys’s blood, as if he had bathed in it, and picking his teeth with one of his mother’s decorative pins.

Theon opened his eyes and looked at his uncle’s sword, remembering how red it was that day.

Euron looked down at his sword, as if he knew what he was thinking about. The young man checked on his mental shields, and found them intact. He observed his uncle’s smile, and it reminded him of a shark’s, full of teeth and greed.

“I won’t hurt you, little Kraken.” He crooned, but he didn’t remove his hand from the sword. Instead, he extended his free hand for Theon to take.

“Just come along, _half-breed_.” The unknown man said, pointing with his chin towards the cliff’s edge. “You’ve nowhere to go.”

Theon looked down at the ocean and it beckoned him to come closer, to sink into its cold embrace.

_hOMe._

He raised his head and his green-blue eyes met his uncle’s dark one.

“I’d rather die as Alannys’s son, than live as Balon Greyjoy’s soldier.”

He lurched his body towards the empty blue ocean below and he allowed gravity to pull him closer, and closer and closer --

His skin prickled, and his eyes filled with tears. He opened his mouth, but whether he screamed or not, he didn’t know; the wind’s growling was too loud in his ears. His blood was sea-water, eager to go back to where it belonged and he wasn’t scared of the ocean below. As the distance between himself and the ocean grew smaller and smaller, Theon found himself content and prepared for what was to come.

_HOME._

 

*

 

“No! Please, no! Don’t take him away!” Alannys screamed loudly in his ear, desperate and completely broken. Her strong arms were wrapped completely around his body, as if she was trying to meld him back into her body, hide him away inside her. “Please, please -- anyone but him, anyone but my Theon!”

This wasn’t right.

His mother never begged. She held her head straight and tore down everything and anything that stood in her way. Alannys Harlaw was strong and proud because she was of the ocean and he was like her because he was of Alannys Harlaw.

This was wrong. Alannys Harlaw died seven years ago.

But it was his mother’s voice. It was his mother’s arms. It was his mother’s scent.

Did this strange woman have her face, too?

Filled with a desperate desire to see the animated face of his mother, Theon forced his eyes to open. They were tired, lazy and unwilling to move, as if he had slept for an entire day. For a moment the world was just a blur of multi-colored bubbles, and then the world sharpened to a painful degree.

He raised his head up, shaky and tired.

It was his mother. There were bags under her eyes and worry lines that he never saw before, but Theon recognized her. He knew those blue-green eyes as well as he knew his own, and he knew that sharp chin and strong eyebrows.

He saw them in the mirror everyday.

“Mother?” He whispered, falling back into age-old habits and speaking in Mermish.

At the sound of his voice, she stopped her screaming and screeching. Her arms grew slack and she looked down at him, giving him his first clear look at her face. Theon drew back, struck by how _different_ she looked. This was his mother, but she was not at the same time; she was older, caged and absolutely miserable.

“Theon.” She warbled back, also in Mermish. “My baby, my Theon -- I knew you’d wake up, I knew you’d come back to me, I--”

But whatever she was going to say next was cut off, when he was harshly removed from her defenseless grip.

“No!” She screamed, this time in English, lunging towards him as he was carried away. An armored man stepped forward and held her back. Theon recognized him; it was his uncle Rodrick.

His dead uncle Rodrick, murdered by the Dark Lord for helping Alannys and her youngest to escape.

“Give him back! Give him back, he’s my son! Mine! Only mine!”

Theon struggled against the arms that held him, but he was too weak, barely able to move. He looked up to see who was holding him and he nearly choked on his jumping heart.

Balon Greyjoy. The Dark Lord.

Father.

The man didn’t even look down on him. He simply extended his arms, and Theon turned his head to see a dark-haired man opening his arms to recieve him from Balon.

Suddenly, a thought struck Theon.

_Why was he so small?!_

“W-what?” Theon managed to croak, his throat dry and disused. But still he forced himself to speak, to try and understand. He looked down on his small hands; it was the hands of a child, not a fully grown man. “What’s going on?”

The man who was holding him looked down on him in pity and the young man felt humiliation burn in his cheeks. He tried to struggle out of the man’s arms, but they were firm and strong around him.

“Take him,” Balon said impassively, confusing Theon. Didn’t his father want him by his side? Didn’t he chase him down all the way from the islands to Paris? Didn’t Balon order Alannys’s death just so he can force Theon to be with him? “He’s a true Ironborn. He won’t bend or break to you, no matter what.”

Theon choked on his tongue, on his desire to refute the Dark Lord’s claim. He never swore to serve the Dark Lord, he never killed a Muggle -- how could he be Ironborn?

The burly man next to the man holding him gave Balon a disapproving look.

“You’ve lost your eldest sons, Lord Greyjoy and now you’re giving away your youngest. Is that all you have to say?” He roared, resembling an animal. Rodrick and Maron were dead?

Balon didn’t look at them and instead he kept looking down.

“We do not sow, _Your Grace_ .” Balon said, the words dripping with poison and ill-intent. Theon caught a stray thought from his father’s too-open mind. _You and yours will get it Baratheon, sooner or later, but we will rise. Rise above you because--_

“What is dead may never die.” He whispered, looking at the man who sired him, understanding slowly dawning on him. Balon raised his head and looked at Theon in the eye for the first time since this strange sequence of events began.

Theon thought he almost looked sad.

The men turned away, ready to separate Theon from the people who brought him into this world.

He craned his neck and watched as his mother broke out of his uncle’s grip. She threw herself onto the ground, near the two men, and her dark hair spread on the ground like spilled ink.

“Wait, please!” She begged, one hand gripping the dark haired man’s ankle tightly. “Please! He just woke up from years long of sleep! He knows nothing! Let me explain the situation, first -- please!”

The man who was holding him shared a look with ‘Baratheon’. They seemed to come to a wordless understanding, and Theon was passed to his mother’s shaking hands. She turned away from everyone and hid her face near his ear.

“What do you remember, my son?” She asked, switching back to Mermish.

“I fell.”

“Yes.” Alannys confirmed, sounding relieved. “You fell from a tower two years ago, and you’ve been sleeping ever since.”  
Theon furrowed his eyebrows in confusion but he let Alannys continue to speak in their shared tongue.

“Aerys Targaryen was displaced from his throne and Baratheon took his place.” Alannys spoke, rushed and looking over her shoulder and towards the impatient men behind her. “Your father rebelled against King Baratheon -- he thought he could be king, thought he could build you and your brothers a better legacy than what he inherited.”

Theon glanced at Balon, and saw that his father had bowed his head down once more, eyes masked by his graying hair.

“But he lost, and I lost your brothers and now I am going to lose you too, as a result of his pride and foolishness.” Alannys’s voice broke even as her hand carassed his cheek, and Theon leant into it, chasing the familiar warmth he had been deprived of for so long.

“They intend to take you as a hostage and if your father rebels again, they will lop your head off your shoulders.”

They both stilled at her grim words.

“But don’t you worry; I won’t let him risk your life, I promise.” Alannys whispered.

The man who had held him took a step towards Alannys. “Lady Harlaw…”

“A moment, Lord Stark, one more moment please!” Alannys requested with a wrecked voice but Theon could sense the thick _charm_ coated around it like honey.

“When they take you to Winterfell, find a body of water. I will speak to you through there, my little fish. And don’t you ever forget,” She said, raising his face so their ocean colored eyes could meet. “You are of the ocean and they will never take that away from you.”

Theon wanted to ask more question, to beg her to explain the situation better. To ask whether she was _his_ mother or some doppelganger he had conjured up in his madness.

But there was no more time. King Baratheon barked harsh orders and Lord Stark made his way towards them, probably to pick him up. But Theon shook his head and pulled away from his mother, forcing her to put him down on weak, unsteady legs.

He took one step, then two and almost fell face first on the ground if it wasn’t for Lord Stark’s hands on his shoulders.

Theon raised his dark hard and looked at the older man with his pale eyes, but he sensed neither ill-intent nor scorn from the man. But there was no warmth in that gaze either.

“I will walk.” He said, straightening his back. An empty pit in his stomach begged him to lay down but he ignored it and drew strength from the roaring ocean around him.

Lord Stark looked down on him with something akin to respect and he nodded his head. Theon didn’t look back, knowing that he will crumble down and break if he saw his mother.

And he couldn’t look weak now.

After all, he was Theon Harlaw and he was the son of Alannys Harlaw, a Siren of the sea. How could he show weakness when the salty air caressed his nostrils, urging him to be strong?

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

Theon Greyjoy, A Hostage

 

‘ _Something must’ve gone very wrong when I jumped off the cliff,’_ Theon thought to himself as he hugged the railings close, watching the waters lick and slap the hull of the boat. _‘Or maybe there is no afterlife, and this is all that waits us after we die.’_

His mother used to tell him stories, many years ago. He grew up listening to every sort of childhood tales his mother ever heard in her long life; he knew many muggle fairytales, most Wizarding fairytales and _all_ the merfolk’s tales.

 _“Once, the whole world was drowning in water.”_ She told him as they cuddled under the water, watching the fish swim around them while they laid on a makeshift bed of sea weeds. That’s how she liked to begin her stories. _”All living beings were of the sea, because the sea is all that there was.”_

_“There were many merfolk, but they were divided and weak. They fought and killed and devoured everything in their path, until a tribe of merfolk, the Eachy, dared to challenge the gods themselves.”_

_“The gods?”_ He remembered asking her, confused.

 _“Old gods.”_ She replied, hand on his cheek. _“Dead gods.”_

_“The Eachy and the gods fought, and they smote one another until neither was left alive. But their war caused a great calamity, and the world was changed. Some parts of the ocean dried up, and land-walkers began to live where the merfolk once reigned. But they were not the only beings that appeared after the calamity; because while some parts of the ocean turned into dry land, other parts of the ocean became deep and dangerous.”_

His mother looked at him with glowing eyes as the waters around them began to bend to her will and take shape. She created a seafoam sculpture stood next to them, its top parts looked like malformed humans and tentacles emerged from below its hips.

She asked him if he knew what it was and he told her he did.

_“The Cecaelias emerged from those new, hidden parts of the ocean and they brought war with them. Some believed that they were the second coming of the gods and others believed that they were the surviving members of the Eachy, and that they were cursed with these monstrous forms for daring to challenge the divine.”_

_“But King Arturius defeated the Cecaelias, didn’t he?”_

_“Yes, my love, he did. Our ancestor Arturius bravely swam into the dark parts of the ocean and discovered that if you swam deep enough, if you swam hard enough, then you will emerge to the other side. He swam hard and he went deep, until he found the home of the invaders. He found that the Cecaelias were naught but deformed creatures that were trying to escape the dragons that hunted them for prey. With this knowledge, Arturius united the tribes of the merfolk as the first King of the Ocean and defeated the Cecaelias; after all, they were not gods and they were barely even merfolk – they were just beasts from another world.”_

Another world.

Theon rested his chin on the railing and thought quietly to himself. There were many ‘cracks’ in the ocean and his mother claimed that each one led to another world. He never thought it was true, not ever.

But that was the only explanation for this strange, but familiar world.

He considered the Alannys he met a week ago. She wasn’t the Alannys who raised him, the one who spat on the Dark Lord’s face and ran away with his youngest child in her womb. She wasn’t the Alannys who showed him her underwater home in Greece and she wasn’t the woman who sat down with him and Headmistress Maxime when he was eleven, trying to convince her that _yes_ , Theon deserved a position in Beauxbatons, despite his mixed heritage and who his father was.

His mother was ready to fight that day, to show off her canines and tear into the headmistress. But Olympe Maxime was kind and she accepted him into her school with only two conditions: he could never be Theon Greyjoy and he had to keep his charm-speak to a minimum; after all, the wizarding society had a negative approach to half-humans.

Theon thought about the Alannys of this world, this sort-of-mother of his, the one with whom he shared blood but not his life. She wasn’t his mother, but she was so close and she was alive.

Could she fill that void his mother left behind with her death?

Theon wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

He sighed and looked yearningly at the waters below.

“That’s a big sigh for one so small.”

Theon looked up and saw the King lean against the railing next to him. Theon blinked in surprise; they have been traveling together for a week, and the king had shown very little interest in him.

He didn’t need Legilimency to know that the King was uncomfortable around him; an innocent child that he might have to kill one day to punish Balon Greyjoy.

In all the worlds out there, is there a Theon who didn’t suffer under Balon’s shadow?

“I have big worries.” Theon told him simply. Then belatedly added, “Your Grace.”

The King laughed at his cheeky response but didn’t say anything and silence stretched between them. King Baratheon seemed to find the silence uncomfortable, tapping his fingers on the wood they were both leaning against.

“I doubt you can swim back home, lad.” The King finally said, and Theon resisted the urge to laugh madly. Then continued, “You looked like you were thinking of jumping over.”

 _You don’t know anything about me_. He wanted to say, snarl and let his sharp canines show. The desire for home intensified ten folds, motivated by bitterness; he wanted to jump into the water in front of the King, wanted to shock him and, more than anything, he wanted to escape down to the watery halls of his ancestors.

The waters of this oceans called out to him, begging him to come home.

But he couldn’t.

This was not his home.  

This was a different world and this was a different ocean. Maybe the Arturius of this world never united the merfolk under his rule, and they remained tribalistic and sectarian. Maybe, for one reason or another, the merfolk lived on land in exile. Maybe the flesh-eating Cecaelias infested these waters.

Anything is possible and nothing is impossible in this strange new world.

“I will never go back home, Your Grace.” Theon finally stated and he knew in his heart of hearts that that was the truth. But saying it out loud brought a sort of finality that he wasn’t expecting and his eyes watered.

The King watched as Theon’s tears fell and joined the angry waves below. He looked away from the crying boy and patted him on the shoulder, a facsimile of comfort.

“There, there, lad – there’s no need to cry. I am sure you will get to go home soon. As soon as Balon dies – fuck, that’s not what I meant.”

Theon laughed and he couldn’t keep the bitterness from sliding in, making itself known. It probably sounded wrong, coming out of a seven-year old’s mouth.

“Balon Greyjoy will hold onto life with his teeth if he has to. I think he’ll outlive me, even.”

The King gave him a confused stare and Theon knew that he had disturbed him with his cynicism. He was supposed to be a seven-years old boy who just woke up from a two-years long coma, not an angry adult stuck in a child’s body.

“You’re a very grim child, did you know that?” The King asked, and Theon thought there was some small respect in the way the King’s eye. But his stare was now guarded, as well.

Theon didn’t think he could afford the King’s suspicions, so he pulled the ocean’s strength into himself and pooled it with his own. He pushed as much of it as he could into his voice and began to charm-speak.

 **“I’ve woken up to a grim world.”** He said and watched as his charm began to work its magic. The King’s eyes glazed over. **“I don’t think I know my place in it anymore.”**

Charm-speak is a Siren specific talent. It’s a form of vocal-induced hypnotism that made people complacent by making them view the user through rose-tinted glasses. It made them want to please the user, to become closer to them.

Typically, the charm is only as strong the Siren casting it but Sirens could amplify its effect by pulling power from the waters around them. But as Theon watched the King smile dopily at him, he realized that pulling power from the ocean was an overkill. He was used to dealing with Occlumency-guarded wizards and witches, not defenseless muggles.

“I am sure you’ll find a home with Ned.” The King said, looking at Theon the same way one might look down on a favorite son. “He’s an honorable man; he’ll keep you safe.”

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Or maybe you could come with me to King’s Landing!

He only wanted the King to stop distrusting him! Theon didn’t particularly want to spend time with the King. Though the King had spent the journey ignoring Theon, the young boy had watched the way he interacted with his servants and brother-in-law, Jaime Lannister.

In contrast, Lord Stark seemed like a saintly ‘guardian’.

“Ah no, Your Grace.” Theon interrupted before the King could go too far with that thought. “I am quite happy with Lord Stark.”

 _‘Well, happier than I would be with you anyway.’_ He snarked quietly.

The King looked disappointed, but he stopped talking about King’s Landing at least.

“Are you sure? It’s the Capital of the Seven Kingdoms, you know!”

Or maybe he wasn’t.

Theon resisted the urge to groan and leaned against the wooden bars, preparing himself for a long conversation with the King.

*

When the King bid Theon goodbye, he gave him a large bear-hug that nearly suffocated the air out of him. The King’s men looked confused at this overly friendly gesture, but Theon knew that the only reason the King did what he did is because there was quite a bit of charm still left inside of him.

 _‘Thank god charms aren’t permanent.’_ Theon thought to himself as he laid limp in the King’s arms, counting the seconds until he was freed.

He was too small to ride his own horse, so Lord Stark settled him on his own horse and Theon shifted around the saddle, trying to get comfortable. It didn’t help much; riding a horse was different than riding a broomstick, and soon Theon’s legs and lower back began to ache.

But he didn’t complain.

Mostly because of the way the Northern men were glaring at him, and a little because Lord Stark’s sword was constantly within his sight.

His sort-of-mother’s warnings rang loudly in his mind, too fresh.

 _‘Will he stab me with that sword? Will he sever my head from my shoulders with it?’_ He wondered, slightly hysterical.

If that ever came to pass, he could try to Apparate. But he wasn’t good at it before and he regularly splinched himself while Apparating.

_‘Will I even survive splinching with this underdeveloped body of mine?’_

Lord Stark must’ve noticed Theon’s stare at the sword, because his left hand settled on Theon’s head and he kindly said, “This is my family’s sword; it’s called Ice.”

Talking about Ice eventually led to Lord Stark talking about the many historical battles his family participated in and Theon resisted the urge to throw up. While the Lord had glossed over the bloody parts, apparently aware of Theon’s physical age, the boy wasn’t stupid enough to not realize how bloody wars can be.

When Lord Stark finally called for them to make camp, Theon begged off dinner and retired to the tent early, which he also shared with Lord Stark.

His ‘guardian’ had promised him a bedtime story and Theon didn’t want to hear anymore battle stories from him. Listening to him speak of his House’s old glories only brought unpleasant memories of the Dark Lord and Euron.

He settled in the cot he was given and buried himself under the furs and closed his eyes, trying to chase away red from his mind. When that didn’t work, Theon tried to distract himself.

The young boy looked up at the cloth ceiling of the tent and listened to the men’s raucous laughter from outside.

 _“Lumos.”_ He whispered, waiting with an abated breath.

The world shifted in the way he was used to. His stomach quivered in excitement.

Nothing happened.

He didn’t have a wand, and he wasn’t used to using his magic without a medium.

Theon pushed his head under the pillow. Whether it was to block the sounds from outside, or to try and deprive himself from air, he wasn’t sure.

Not for the first time since he arrived in this bloody world, he wished that the ocean back home had swallowed him whole.

*

As they travelled further North, their retinue became smaller and smaller; the men slowly broke off from the main group to return to their homes and territories. All of them offered Lord Stark rooms in their homes, but he only accepted once.

Braedon Haerd was the head of a minor noble family, and the only reason Lord Stark agreed to his offer is because the man’s home was literally a couple of miles away from where they intended to make camp.

In the weeks they have been traveling together, the Northmen’s hatred cooled down to something between dislike and mutual indifference. But Braedon was different; he was always nice to Theon and the stories he told him always had a happy ending.

The Haerd home was small, compared to Pyke, but it was warm and cozy nevertheless.

“Father!”

A young woman came running from the doors of the Haerd home, brown curls dancing in the wind as she opened her arms to hug Braedon. She hid her teary eyes with her father’s shoulder, and he hugged her back.

“Lord Stark, this is my daughter Anisa.” Braedon introduced as they separated and Anisa curtsied, wiping her tears away as she did so.

“We have servants preparing rooms for you and your men, my Lord Stark. I hope it meets your expectations,” She said with a genial smile. Then, with a slightly choked voice, she continued, “We will have a feast as well, to celebrate your victory and safe return.”

She and Lord Stark exchanged a couple of pleasantries before her father drew him in another, separate conversation.

Theon looked at the beautiful girl and tried to smile but was taken aback by the deadly glare she sent him. It was one of the ugliest looks he had ever received in his life, comparable to the ones he received when the Wizarding world learned that he was Balon Greyjoy’s youngest son.

But Anisa didn’t have much time to glare at him, as Ser Rodrik Cassel came and dragged him away.

“Listen Theon,” Rodrik said as they followed a harried looking servant. “Lord Stark asked for you to stay in your room during the feast.”

Rodrick gave out a loud curse when they reached Theon’s ‘room’. It was a shabby thing, extremely dusty and, worst of all, lacked a fireplace. It looked as if they had shoved a cot into a forgotten storage room.

Theon bit the insides of his mouth to stop himself from complaining.

Hostages don’t complain.

But.

He grew up in Beauxbatons, in the fine apartments of Paris, in the palaces of Atlantis.

“Is this how Haerd and his household treat guests?” Rodrik asked the maid, nearly spitting in rage. “This is unacceptable!”

Theon silently agreed.

“S-ser,” The old woman cowered, but not before her hateful eyes bore onto Theon’s own. “W-we believed this would be best as he is nothing but—”

“He is a child who has not even seen ten summers!” The older man declared resolutely. “What right have you for presuming anything? Arrange for a better room at once before you stand accused of trying to murder Lord Greyjoy!”

The woman paled at that last bit and quickly nodded her head, guiding them to a slightly better room. It was the same size, but the bed looked serviceable and there was a decent sized fireplace.

Ser Rodrik examined the room and then nodded his assent, dismissing the servant.

“Listen lad, do you promise to stay inside the room during the feast?” The older man asked, kneeling on the ground so he could put his hands on the younger boy’s shoulders.

Theon nodded wordlessly.

“Good.” Ser Rodrik sighed in relief and stood up, turning to leave Theon in his room. “I will come back later with something for you to eat.”

And then, Theon was finally left alone in his room. For a moment, he considered running out of the room. But where would he go? Besides, the place was crawling with Northmen who’d return him to his room the moment they saw him and Theon doubted he could use _charmspeak_ on an entire crowd.

He settled himself next to the roaring fireplace and allowed himself to relax for a moment. The cold began to seep out and he could almost feel warm again.

The more they travelled North, the more the chill seemed to settle in his bones. Despite Lord Stark sparing him one of his cloaks, Theon still felt unbearably cold. Like other Sirens, he preferred warm water over cold water and like other Sirens, his body began to slow down to preserve heat and resources.

Once he stopped feeling like a drugged-out sloth, the young boy raised a single finger towards the locked window and whispered confidently, “ _Alohomora._ ”

He could feel the power bubble beneath his skin, but it fizzled out almost immediately. His fingers curled in his palm, his childish hands almost recalling how it felt to have his wand in his hand.

A pang of bitterness arose within him at the thought of his wand. He owned three during his life before he came over to this world; the first one was the one he bought from Master Pierre when he turned eleven. It broke during a practice duel near the end of his fourth year, and he had to perform his practical exams with a loaner wand.

During that summer, his mother took him back to Master Pierre and the old man showed him how to craft his own wand. His mother donated a strand of her hair and they used a branch from the pear tree that grew in their garden to make it. That wand never failed to make him feel happy; holding that wand was like carrying a piece of his mother with him.

The Dark Lord broke that wand when Euron brought Theon back to him, sneering about Alannys’s betrayal, and Theon stole Maron’s wand when he escaped the islands. He wondered what happened to his brother's wand.

“ _Lumos._ ” He decided to try again, settling back on his favorite charm. But the result was still the same.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him; he knew how to craft his own wand. If he had magic by his side then he could probably make his way out of this miserable ‘hostage’ situation he found himself in.

All he needed was a living branch and something to use as core…

Theon’s plans were interrupted when he heard the old hinges on his door squeal as it was pushed open. Braedon’s daughter, Anisa came into the room with a tray full of food in her arms.

The young boy drew back from her and closer towards the fire and watched her warily.

“Hello,” She said with a pleasant smile on her face. “You must be hungry. I’ve brought you something to eat.”

Something was wrong. Wasn’t this girl glaring at him from the moment he arrived into her home?

Anisa settled on the bed and raised a plate full of honey covered cake towards him.

“Do you want to have some?” She asked him, a smile on her face. “It must be hard to be so far away from home. I’ve got those _especially_ for you.”

If Theon was an ordinary child, he would have happily accepted the sweets. But he wasn’t an ordinary child. So he used Legilimency on her.

At first, it was a little hard to focus his mind. But you don’t forget or lose Legilimency, and soon it was easier for him to read what he wanted.  

 _‘Eat it, eat it, you blasted fish spawn.’_ She thought, and Theon knew she had poisoned the cake. When he dug around a little bit deeper, he discovered that she had an older brother who went with their father to suppress Balon’s rebellion.

He did not come back.

 **“Thank you,”** He said, charm thick in his voice. Her sharp green eyes glazed over. **“But I am not really hungry.”**

“Oh well then, that’s okay.” Anisa blinked sluggishly at him and looked down on the lemon cakes. “What should I do it with it?”

 **“I will deal with it.”** He suggested, and practically ripped the dish from her hands. **“It’s late, we should both go to bed.”**

After she left his bedroom with a confused look on her face, Theon ran forward and dumped the contents of the dish in his small fireplace. He watched as the fire greedily swallowed up the cakes.

For good measure, he threw what was left on the tray into the fire too.

When Ser Rodrik came with a plate full of bread, cheese and meat, Theon made a show of eating a little. Once the old master-at-arms left, the young Siren stuck two fingers into the back of his throat, forcing everything he ate out into the chamber pot.

He laid in his bed, hungry and unable to sleep as he recalled Anisa’s absolute and all-consuming hatred.

When they left the Haerd home, Theon made a point to frequently read the minds of those around him. Afterall, Anisa taught him his first hard lesson from this world; many things could kill him, but nothing was crueler than the blade that hid in the shadows.

*

“Do you have children?” He asked Lord Stark, twitching his legs to try and keep the affects of the cold away, two weeks after they left the Haerd home. Apparently, Winterfell was just a three day’s ride away and he couldn’t help but be a little curious about Ned Stark’s family.

Soon, Theon will stop being the man’s replacement child and will be downgraded down to ‘hostage’.

The man’s eyes widened, but he didn’t stay surprised for long because his face was transformed with happiness.

“Aye.” He replied, looking wistfully at the road ahead. “My sons, Robb and Jon are around your age. Sansa’s still young, only four years old, and my Lady wife is expecting our third child.”

“Is she…nice?” Theon asked, voice only a hair above a whisper.

He didn’t intend to get in the woman’s way, or even interact too much with her family but it would be nice to know if his ‘hostess’ was a nice woman.

It would be nice to know whether or not she intended to creep into his bedroom with poisoned sweets in her hand.

“Lady Stark is an honorable woman.” Lord Stark said, an understanding look on his face. “She will treat you fairly, I promise.”

Theon nodded his head morosely and thought of his own mother. Not the Alannys of this world, but his dead and buried mother.

What would she say about all of this?

A heavy cloak settled on his shoulder and he realized that he had been shivering this whole time. He looked up to see that Lord Stark had wrapped a portion of his own fur-lined coat around Theon, who was now wrapped under two cloaks.

“You will want for nothing,” The man promised, wiping a stray tear from Theon’s face. “Winterfell will be your home for as long as you need it to be.”

Theon didn’t say anything and just looked at the road ahead.

_‘My home is dead. It’s been dead for seven years.’_

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OR The things Theon learned about this world. I don't know where I am going with this but I am happy writing it.  
> Theon is struggling with his new reality, as well as the loss of his old one. I imagine there wasn't much time for him to process through his mother's death while he was captured by the Dark Lord a la Balon Greyjoy. I don't know, I really enjoy writing about this particular verse.  
> I actually had a whole segment about his arrival to Winterfell but decided to scrap it in the end for no reason other than because it looked awkward and forced.  
> Now if you will excuse me I am off to sink my teeth into some project reports and exams...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

Theon Greyjoy, Ward

 

 _‘Other than being grey and dreary, Winterfell isn’t that bad.’_ Theon thought to himself, watching from his window as Jory Cassel and his men trained below.

It really wasn’t as horrible as it could be, Theon acknowledged quietly. He wasn’t given a converted storage room, at least. The room wasn’t large but it had a decent fireplace, and it was cozy enough to remind him of his room in Beauxbatons.   

If Theon was going to be nitpicky, his only complaint would be the people of Winterfell.

As Theon predicted, Lord Stark began to ignore Theon now that he had his own children to dote on. And despite Theon’s best efforts, Lady Stark was convinced that he was a bloodthirsty savage who was planning on raping and killing her children. The servants of Winterfell shared her opinion of him, unfortunately.

Blegh. As if.

Theon attended the most prestigious magical school in all of Europe; he was cultured, elegant and well-educated. The only time he raised his wand to fight was in a duel or self-defense, and the many people he slept with were always enthusiastic and one-hundred percent willing because consent Is Very Important.

Besides that, he was cultured enough to know that it was wrong to take innocent _hostages_ and separate a child from his mother.  

Luckily, the Stark soldiers seemed intent on ignoring him. Thanks to his Legilimency, Theon surmised that they didn’t really care for him. But like him, they had seen war in all of its gory details and they have lost their appetite for revenge, especially against a small child like himself.

He didn’t really mind being someone’s afterthought, because it was better to be invisible than be the object of someone’s revenge. Although no one tried to kill him like Anisa did, the servants took their pound of flesh in other, subtler ways.

No one came to revive the fire at night, no one came to clean out his fireplace, and no one bothered to come and clean his room, period. If he passed them by, they’d wait until he passed them and spit on the ground he was walking on. If he asked for something from them, they’d do it deliberately wrong or ‘forget’ to do it altogether. The food they delivered to his room was always cold.

Theon thought it was cute that they thought this was going to affect him. He may be stuck in a child’s body and he may have _some_ childish inclinations, but he had an adult mind and being confined in his room while Winterfell celebrated the death of Balon’s rebellion gave him the necessary time to collect his bearings.

This world is strange, this world is cruel, but his mother is Alannys Harlaw and he is a Siren of the ocean. It may have taken him by surprise when he first arrived, but he was ready to face this world now.

If they wanted to squeeze a reaction out of him, they’ll have to try harder. 

He jumped up and straightened his back when a couple of enthusiastic _thump, thump, thump_ made its way to his ears.

There was a knock on his door.

Theon didn’t bother moving from the window. There was only one person in the whole of Winterfell who bothered to knock on his door and he found him terribly annoying.

“Theon?” A young voice called out, and the knocking on his door intensified. “Theon are you sleeping?”

 _‘If I was, you wouldn’t know_.’ He thought wryly to himself as he looked at the locked door.

“Theon?”

Resisting the urge to sigh, the older boy walked towards the door and undid the bolt, opening the door as he did so.

“Yes Robb?” He asked bluntly, not bothering with honorifics. Why should he bother himself and call this younger child ‘Lord’? They were technically of the same social status, and it’s not like Robb could kill him or throw him in the dungeons for ‘disrespecting’ him.

Besides, Robb didn’t mind Theon’s attitude. In fact, Theon got the distinct impression that he enjoyed hearing his name.

“Theon! You’re awake!” Robb said, beaming up at the older boy and rolling on his heels as he did so. “Ser Rodrik sent me to fetch you!”

“Why?” Theon asked, suddenly wary. Rodrik is the Master-at-arms of Winterfell and he oversaw both Robb and Jon’s weapons training. He also trained other shrimps that occasionally came to Winterfell to ‘visit’.

“For weapons training!” Robb gushed energetically, practically jumping out of his skin in his excitement.

Theon, his suspicions confirmed, sighed. “Oh. Well. No.”

The young boy in front of him stilled and he looked up at Theon with wide, confused eyes. “But… it’s weapons training?”

The Siren rolled his eyes, annoyed with the younger child’s naivety – why was he acting as if the very thought of refusing ‘weapons training’ unthinkable?

“How can you not want to learn to fight?” Robb asked, frowning and trying to stand taller but rather than being intimidated, Theon was amused.

“Because I have more power in my pinky than anyone in here will ever have in their whole body.” He said tartly as he began to close the door. “Tell Ser Rodrik ‘thanks but no thanks’.”

Robb opened his mouth to protest but Theon slammed the heavy wooden door shut and bolted it for good measure. He could hear the young boy knocking on the door, saying something indistinguishable from beyond the door.

Theon threw himself on the bed, determined to outwait Robb’s determined knocking. He was certain to get bored and stop soon – after all, Theon was an adult and Robb was a child.

*

Theon groaned as Robb began to knock the door again, much harder than he usually did.

It has been three days since Robb originally came to him and even though he always gave up after an hour, he came back the day after and the day after that. Essentially, _the boy_ was acting like a timed clock; always knocking on his door on a specific time.

He was slightly late today, and Theon had rejoiced the fact he had managed to wait out the brat’s stubborn desire to drag him with him to weapons training with him. Except, it turned out he hadn’t and Robb was still intent on tormenting him with constant raps on his door.

“By Poseidon’s spear,” Theon muttered as he pulled the pillow off his head. “He’s more stubborn than a cabezon!”

He lumbered off the bed and took a moment to steady himself before he stalked towards the door, lightheaded and clumsy from the sudden movements. Theon intended to get his revenge; he may not have a wand, or have mastered any wandless magic but he intended to use some harmless Siren magic to make him wet in uncomfortable places.

At least then his Siren magic would be useful for something other than _charmspeak_ and clothes laundering.

“You know you’re –” Theon said as he opened the door, pausing when he saw a pair of long boots where he expected Robb to be standing. He looked up to see who had come to bother him today.

He closed his eyes and muffled a scream of despair that struggled to claw its way out of his throat.

“Lord Stark!” He managed, sounding more like a mouse than a dignified human being. “I—I wasn’t expecting you today.”

 _‘Or any day really.’_ Theon added to himself as Lord Stark breezily entered the room. The man looked over Theon’s room critically and the younger boy bristled as a cursory read of Lord Stark’s mind revealed a singular emotion: displeasure.

Sure the room wasn’t immaculate, but the servants rarely did anything correctly so he was stuck trying to do everything by himself – which would be fine if he was in his original size – and his skinny little arms weren’t particularly graceful.

So yes, the fireplace was a little dirty and the fire was pathetically small under his magically-laundered clothes, and his bed was unmade but the room was otherwise clean.

It’s messy, but it hardly warrants Ned Stark’s displeasure.

“How have you been, Theon?” The man asked, and Theon wanted to gag on his fake pleasantry.

Being a Legilimens really took all the guessing out of social interaction.

“Quite well.” He haltingly responded, barely able to keep the _vous connard_ from following afterwards. Just because Stark didn’t understand French doesn’t mean he should call him asshole out loud.

He was raised better than that.

Lord Stark pointed to the bed and he sat on it after Theon nodded his assent. The young boy warily approached the bed when the older man patted the empty spot next to him.

“That is strange then,” Lord Stark said as he helped Theon up on the bed. “As my son told me that you’re too tired to join him and Ser Rodrik for weapons training.”

Theon closed his eyes, and once again, resisted the urge to scream. Why didn’t that brat just tell the truth?!

“I did not tell him to lie for me.” Theon defended himself. “I told him I had no intention of learning how to fight.”

Lord Stark did not look surprised to hear that.

“Aye, I suspected as much.” The man said, and Theon physically recoiled, shocked to find that the man actually meant his words. “Robb likes you. I believe he intended to shield you from punishment with his lies.”

Theon didn’t have anything to say to that, and his opinion of Robb softened slightly.

Lord Stark continued to talk, “But I have not come here to speak of my son. Why have you not gone to Ser Rodrik for training?”

“Because I don’t want to.” Theon responded quickly, anger overflowing his good sense.

Lord Stark’s eyes widened in surprise and Theon knew that it was genuine.

“Why not? I would have thought you of all people would enjoy –”

Theon could not hold himself back. “Why? Because I am a savage Iron Born who enjoys beating up people? Why is it so hard for any of you to understand that I don’t want to learn how to hurt others!”

 _‘Damn this child’s body.’_ Theon cursed to himself, eyes watering involuntarily. This was not the first time his childish body had betrayed his impulse control.

The young boy looked away from Lord Stark’s slack-jawed expression. _‘You’ve gone and done it now, you fool. You’ve tested his patience one time too many.’_

“That is… that is _not_ the truth, Theon.” Lord Stark quickly protested, his eyebrows crossing in obvious distress.

 **“I am s** orr **y.”** He said, his tongue tripping over his simple words. His heart beat loudly in his chest, and he could barely breathe as he spoke. **“Please** lets forget **I said anything at all.”**

Theon waited for Lord Stark to smile genially at him and agree with him. He’s always been good with _charmspeak_ and although he feels bad for using it like this at least he was using it to protect himself—

“Let us not.” Lord Stark said, instead of the easy agreement Theon was expecting.

Theon’s head snapped upwards to face Lord Stark and it was his turn to be shocked; Ned Stark’s eyes were clear and his face set in a neutral expression, rather than a drunk, joyful one. Did his _charmspeak_ fail to work?!

“I am sorry Theon. I have failed you – I believed that some distance between us would be beneficial but I can see now that I have only harmed you.”

  _‘Say what now?!’_

Lord Stark sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, and he continued to speak. “I did not believe you would be pleased to have me around, as I am responsible for separating you from your mother. But you are a child and all children require responsible guardians, which I have failed to be. I can see from the state of your room that my people have not been welcoming either, and I apologize for that.”

“I…” Theon was so shocked, he could barely string two words together, let alone recall that he could look into Lord Stark’s mind with his Legilimency. He managed a weak, “You can’t control them, so you can’t apologize for their actions.”

“You are wise beyond your years, Theon Greyjoy.” The older man said as he dropped a hand on Theon’s head, his hands running through the silken threads of Theon’s hair in a way he hadn’t since they arrived in Winterfell. “But you are still young.”

Theon cursed his childish inability to deny himself this comfort, but leant into the kind touch nevertheless.

“I may not be able to control what they think of you – for I am certain you have heard those vile words from them – but I can control how they act towards you, for they are my staff and you are my guest.”

The young boy bit his lips, and didn’t know how to tell Lord Stark that they didn’t say anything in front of him because _he heard it all straight from their heads._ So instead, he settled on, “Please don’t bother—”

“Theon, you are _my ward_.” Lord Stark said with such conviction that Theon almost forgot that he was lying. The young boy almost believed that the man was his guardian, and not his captor.

But his mother’s words echoed loudly in his mind.

_…they will lop your head off your shoulders._

“—I have responsibility towards you, and I have been remiss towards you.” Theon realized that while he had been recalling his mother, Lord Stark had been speaking all this time.

“I will speak to the servants personally, and if they mistreat you in any way I want you to tell me immediately.”

Theon blankly nodded his head, barely able to comprehend how all of this came to be. Didn’t Lord Stark come here to punish him for missing weapons training and making his son lie?

He was about to thank the man when the man’s next words nearly caused his blood to literally chill.

“Yet, just as it is my responsibility to ensure that you are treated well by those around you, it is also my responsibility to ensure you grow up to become a good man.” Lord Stark began, and Theon dreaded the man’s next words; nothing good came from men honoring their responsibilities. “You will take at least a meal a day with myself and my family, you will begin your lessons with my sons and Maester Luwin, you will join weapons training and you will _not_ be allowed to spend the whole day in your room by yourself. Perhaps you can explore the Godswood, or even play with the boys.”

“I really don’t need—” Theon tried to protest, only to be cut off by Lord Star immediately.

“This is not a discussion, Theon. You will abide by these rules, or you will be punished.”

The young Siren closed his eyes and moved away from the older man, rejecting his affectionate touch. He didn’t want this; he wanted to be left alone, left to his own devices until he can either figure out how to go home, or what to do from now on.

He didn’t want to be under someone’s supervision; he was an adult, damn it!

“Why are you doing this?” He asked, hating how tiny and scared his voice turned out to be.

“Theon. When I bought you here to Winterfell, I promised you that you would want for nothing. I meant what I said: you will not want for clothes or food or education or good company.”

“I will give you a reprieve from weapons training, on the condition that you will begin your training within a fortnight.” Lord Stark stood from the bed and offered Theon his hand. “Meanwhile, I believe it will do you some good to observe Robb and Jon’s training.”

The older man’s tone brooks no argument, and Theon looked down for a moment, sullen.

He then stood up, put on his boots and walked towards the door, resolutely ignoring Ned Stark’s outstretched hand. The man sighed and followed Theon out of the room. The two walked slowly together, with Theon walking a step behind Ned because he didn’t know the way.

None of the servants spat on the ground, and nobody dared to give him a nasty glare. It was as if he was invisible.

Theon didn’t know how much he missed being invisible.

Despite himself, he found himself walking closer to Ned, and he nearly slammed into the man when he stopped. Poking his head from behind the man’s large bulk, Theon saw that they were now standing in a balcony that overlooked the training grounds.

“Theon!” Robb shouted enthusiastically when they came into view. Theon flinched as he watched the younger boy wave his practice sword carelessly into the air.

What if he took someone’s eye out?!

Jon took advantage of Robb’s distraction, and jammed his sword into Robb’s ribs, causing his brother to yelp loudly and fall down on the snowy ground. Ned guffawed quietly as he watched Jon walk towards his red-faced brother.

Curious about their conversation, Theon pressed against the rails of the balcony and strained his ears to try and hear what the two brothers were talking about.

“Why did you do that?” Robb whined, crossing his arms with a pout.

“Distractions get you killed.” His dark haired brother responded duly, as if he was reciting something that was repeated to them many times.

“But it was practice! And now Theon thinks I am silly!”

Jon scoffed. “Why do you care so much about him? He’s just a hostage, you know?”

No longer interested in their conversation, Theon allowed his focus to wander away, focusing on an sad, grey spot in the horizon. He should really come up with a plan to deal with his situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally summer vacation!!!! Although I am going to start my summer internship so I can't relax yet TT.TT  
> Recently I've been feeling as if my writing is not matching up to my expectations and am feeling a bit down as result. If you kind readers could tell me what you think about my writing and how I can improve it, I'd be forever grateful.  
> Anyways, enjoy this chapter :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some graphic descriptions

Chapter Four:

Brothers

Despite knowing that Jon spoke nothing but the truth when he called him ‘hostage’, Theon found himself harboring a growing dislike towards the sullen child.

Theon knew he was being ridiculous; he was an adult, and Jon was a child! He shouldn’t sink to the child’s level – yet that is exactly what he found himself doing.

His mother often warned him of his prideful nature, but he was too hard-headed to listen to her. Heck, he still couldn’t drop his seven-years long rivalry with Gabrielle Delacour.

Just thinking about how they _both_ ended up as Beauxbatons’ number one honor student was enough to set him on edge. He was sure that if he hadn’t lost three marks on his Divination final (which he had only taken to compete with Delacour) then he would have scored better than her!

When the boys finished their practice, Robb came running towards him.

“Theon!” Robb exclaimed, throwing himself onto the other boy.

The dark-haired boy, who was too slow to avoid the clingy boy, snapped. “What?!”

Robb, as always, wasn’t bothered by Theon’s harsh tone. Theon would give him credit for his ability to ignore his foul mood if the boy wasn’t too busy trying to squeeze Theon’s lungs out of his body.

Why does this weak, underdeveloped body continue to betray him?

“Let me go!” He hissed, not unlike an angry cat, as he tried to break free of Robb’s tight hug. As he expected, the young boy didn’t let go.

“You’re hurting me!”

His pathetic words had the intended effect; Robb jumped back as if he was burnt and slammed into his brother, who was leisurely climbing up the stairs that led to the balcony. Theon watched as they tumbled into the snow, a smirk gracing his lips as they began to fight about it.

Lord Stark cleared his throat and Jon stopped trying to shove a snowball into Robb’s shirt.

“Theon will be joining you two for weapons training in a fortnight. I encourage you two to spend time with him; one should always strive to have a shield brother they can trust.”

The badly hidden _get along with him_ did not pass any of the boys, and only Robb beamed up to his father when he heard the news. Theon, reminded of his upcoming classes, simply crossed his arms on his chest, resisting the childish urge to pout.

Jon didn’t bother hiding his own unhappy pout.

Heh. What a child.

“He will also be joining your lessons with Maester Luwin. Maybe you can tell him a little about what you have been learning?”

Theon wanted to throw himself off the balcony. He bit his tongue to stop himself from declaring that he didn’t need to learn _anything_ from them – he’s already graduated Beauxbatons with top marks! He was going to be accepted into Manoir De Guérison, the best school for healers!

Not for the first time in his life, Theon cursed his father in his mind. It was his fault everything turned to shit! If he hadn’t decided to declare himself as Voldemort’s successor, then Theon wouldn’t have been forced to go into hiding. Fucking bastard ordered his mother’s death and attacked his mother’s people! He even had him kidnapped and nearly murdered his school-friends when they tried to protect him.

“Fuck.” Theon muttered as he recalled that incident. Despite his strong aversion to Delacour, he really was thankful that she was around that day. Neither Dimitri nor Sienna would have survived that skirmish with the Iron Born if she wasn’t vacationing with her sister and brother-in-law.

Lord Stark raised a single eyebrow at Theon’s sudden profanity and Jon scowled at him. Only Robb looked completely unbothered by Theon’s language.

The young wizard chose to remain silent and the Stark patriarch sighed. He gave his two sons one last smile before he turned away and left, reminding Theon that he will see him for dinner.

Theon watched as Jon’s scowl deepened upon hearing this news. What right did that brat have to look that sullen?

“Theon, since you’re—” Robb began, trying to attach himself to Theon’s arm as he spoke. But the older boy stepped aside and cut him off.

“The weather’s too cold, please excuse me.” He said, producing the fakes cough he could manage before he turned on his heel and began to mentally retrace his steps back to his room.

He heard Robb’s protest and Jon’s contemptuous grunt.

Overlord Stark only said that he couldn’t spend all of his time in the room – he didn’t specify _how long_ Theon needed to stay outside.

As he retraced his steps back to his room, the servants avoided him. Some gave him weary glances, while others ignored his existence all together.

Huh.

 _‘Lord Stark sure works fast.’_ Theon thought as he opened his bedroom door, and blinked in surprise at how clean it was. His drying clothes were taken away, and his fireplace was properly tended to.

A surreptitious glance confirmed that even the chamber pot was cleaned!

“Huh.” Theon said appreciatively as he sat down on his bed. He looked out of his window and saw that the sun was still out in the sky. His dinner with the oh-so glorious Starks won’t be for another couple of hours, so he can relax and plot a bit.

Jumping out of the bed, he covered the window with a plank of wood and made sure that the door was locked. Then he settled back on the bed and began to think.

“ _Lumos_.” He said with strong intent, and watched as a faint light trickled on top of his palm before it fizzed out and disappeared. The dark haired boy pressed his lips together and began to mutter to himself, trying to catalogue his thoughts. “Ok, so clearly wandless magic isn’t going to work – I need a wand.”

He laid down on the bed and thought; he already knew the basics of making a wand, thanks to Master Pierre. He could make a serviceable wand – nothing fancy or amazing, but something that will help him channel his magic nevertheless.

He already had a core he could use – his own hair. He may only be a half-Siren, but he was still technically a magical creature.

“It might not work for anyone other else…” He muttered to the empty room, curling on his side as he thought. He quickly banished the thought out of his mind – he was the only wizard here, so he will probably never find out – and decided that he needed to find a suitable wood to house the hair.

Then, he needed to find out _why_ his _charmspeak_ didn’t work on Lord Stark. The young hybrid dreaded to think about losing his birthright. If he lost his ability, a Siren’s first and last form of defense, what will he do?

He shuddered at the thought of having his head removed from his body. The thought had always frightened him, but a part of him always believed that he could charm his way out of trouble when he needed to do.

The thought of permanent death never felt as real as it did right now.

If he did lose his _charmspeak_ what does that mean to him? Is this world sucking out his magic? Is there a specific reason it didn’t work at that moment? Or is Lord Stark simply immune to _charmspeak_?

Was his failure external, or internal?

“Check _charmspeak_.” Theon said, mentally adding it to his mental checklist of things he needed to do.

And the thought of his Siren heritage inevitably circled back to the one thing he didn’t want to think about: his mother. When he left the Iron Islands a few months ago, she instructed him to find a natural source of water so she could talk to him. Theon knew she intended to perform a Siren ritual to open a communication between them – it was simple enough to perform between two related Sirens.

But Theon had locked himself into his room, unwilling to venture out into the unknown lands of Winterfell. And while a large part of it was because he didn’t want to put himself in danger, a not so-insignificant part of it was because he wanted an excuse to not search for a lake, or a river, or any form of natural water.

Alannys wasn’t just a name in a paper that he could easily replace with the next available model – she raised him, loved him and kept him safe. Alannys was his mother, his hero, his best friend; would he be disgracing her memory if he called another version of her mother?

And what about the Alannys of this world? Doesn’t she deserve better than to be called ‘mother’ by a son who wasn’t technically hers? A man who, for all intents and purposes, replaced her baby boy?

It would be better if he left her alone.

Yet, his stomach shriveled within itself at the thought of being unable to see his mother again, especially now that he had seen her for the first time in years. He yearned, like a dying man yearned for health, to be with his mother, even if it was just a facsimile of the woman he knew.

“Just one more moment.” He said, throat thick with unspoken emotion. He groaned and buried his head under a pillow, wishing he could _just choose already._ “I wish…”

*

“Mama.” Theon called out, as he checked himself out on the hallway’s mirror. He liked those leather pants – they accentuated his ass and long legs perfectly.

He frowned when she didn’t respond, and walked a couple of steps to poke his head through the living room doorway. “Mama?”

“Yes, Theon?” His mother asked, turning down the TV’s volume. He couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face as he saw how easy she was now around Muggle items.

“I am going out to the bar. Is there anything I can get you before I come back?”

Alannys smiled gently at him.

“You’ve grown so well,” She said with a quiet voice, almost as if she didn’t want Theon to hear what she said. “My beautiful, sensitive boy.”

The young man, upon hearing his mother’s words, felt his cheeks heat up. His smile turned shy, and he looked away.

She turned off the TV. Their old flickering lamp died out, leaving them in darkness.

“It’s all thanks to you, Mama.” He finally said, raising his wand with a soft _Lumos._ He looked up to see her face again, but choked on his tongue instead.

Alannys’s sea-green eyes were a gouged out, bleeding mess. Her dark hair dripped with blood, while a river of red-water ran from her slit throat. Her skin was deathly grey, and her delicate nose was just _gone_. She raised her mangled hand – missing a couple of fingers – towards her son.

“Th—Theon…” She choked out, as more of her life seeped out of her dry lips.

The young man’s legs shook. “Mama?”

The sound of heavy feet slamming against wet ground filled the room.

 _“Hello, little Kraken_.”

Theon’s breath caught against his throat, and he slowly turned around the blood soaked room until he came face-to-face with a large man sitting on his mother’s favorite armchair, a bloodied sword resting casually on his lap while he picked his teeth _with his mother’s favorite hairpin_.

Euron smiled, and his teeth were stained red with Alannys’s blood.

_“It’s time to come home, little Kraken.”_

His uncle stood from the armchair and began to approach Theon, sword in hand.

 _“Come with me, dear boy.”_ The man softly demanded, and every step he took filled the room with a dangerously sweet scent that messed with his thoughts. His eyelids struggled to stay open, and it felt as if there were weights trying to pull them down.

 _“This is all your fault.”_ Euron revealed, indicating to the bloody room, still speaking in that kind voice. _“You don’t want this to happen to anyone else you love, do you?”_

Theon shook his head, feeling like a child.

“No—no…you’re….”

Euron came close enough to touch. His hand extended towards Theon, and Theon he—

*

“No!” Theon screamed, pushing against the hands on his shoulders. “Don’t touch me! It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault!”

“Theon! Theon!” A young, terrified voice called out. “Theon!”

That… was not Euron’s voice.

The young boy opened his bleary eyes and managed to make out a tiny face looming above him.

“Robb?” He asked softly, blinking away the tears as he said that.

The red-haired boy sighed in obvious relief and wiped away his tears as he nodded his head.

“You were screaming!” Robb explained, a hiccup interrupting him when he tried to say more. Then in a quiet voice, he asked, “Bad dream?”

“Bad memory.” Theon explained as he pushed himself to a sitting position. He ran his hand through his hair, quietly drying the sweat that had accumulated on his head.

Theon looked at Robb, and then looked at the door.

“Didn’t I bolt the door?” The older boy questioned.

“I am sorry!” The younger responded, almost wailing as more tears fell from his eyes. “You were screaming and I thought someone was hurting you so I… I opened the door!”

“How?”

Robb sniffed. “I used Old Nan’s knitting needle to… you know…”

The younger boy waved his hand around, and Theon somehow understood from his wild-moving hands that he had somehow jammed the needle between the door and the frame to first unlatch the bolt then pull it open.

“That’s ingenious.” Theon breathed out involuntarily. _‘But also kind of scary. And, why were you carrying knitting needles around?’_

As if Theon’s words were magic – which, Theon realized later, they technically were – Robb’s tears stopped immediately and he gave Theon a large, toothy smile.

“Really? Are you impressed?” The child asked, puffing his chest as he did so.

“Hm. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Robb jumped off the bed. “Oh! Right! Father asked me to call you for dinner!”

Theon resisted the urge to groan. Right. Dinner with his captors. That… nightmare/memory really messed with his head.

“Yes of course.” Theon stiffly responded. “Just… let me change my shirt, and out on my boots.”

Robb and nodded and shifted enough to allow Theon to get off his bed, but to spite him, Theon got off the other end. He ignored the other boy as he opened his chest of clothes and found…

Nothing.

Those stupid servants took everything away to launder!

His etiquette teacher in Beaxbatons would die if he saw Theon wearing a wrinkled shirt to dinner!

“Never mind, I’ll just wear my boots.” Theon muttered, giving up. Why should he put up a front for those barbarians? Good fashion would be wasted on them anyway.

Robb looked over Theon’s shoulder and the child wrinkled his nose as the dark-haired boy slipped on his dry boots.

“Where’s the rest of your clothes?” He asked.

“Gone, apparently.”

Then, without elaboration, he walked out of his room. As he expected, the little boy quickly followed, sticking to Theon’s side as if separating from him would cause him to break out in hives.

By the time they reached the almost empty Great Hall, Theon had managed to dislodge the whining red-haired boy three times and was working on his fourth time.

“Come on Theon, you can sit next to me!” Robb said, pulling Theon towards the head table. There were five chairs and only two were unoccupied.

“Where will Jon sit?” Theon loudly asked, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Surely this little boy knew that six people can’t sit on five chairs, right?

Robb stilled, and looking at his face, Theon had the distinct feeling that he had stepped on a cursed object. Lady Caitlin, who had wrinkled her nose when she saw him enter, released a loud breath.

“Jon _Snow_ is his father’s _bastard_ , and he does not take meals with us.”

 _‘I will die before we sit at the same table. You shouldn’t be sitting here, either, little beast.’_ He heard her add in her mind, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Does she honestly think she’s a ‘Lady’? He’s met more people who were better suited to that title! What a joke!

Still, it was interesting to learn that even Lord Stark made mistakes. Theon was beginning to think that the man was an animated fairytale prince…

To make life difficult for her, because he could, he asked in the sweetest voice he could manage, “What’s a bastard? I thought he was Lord Stark’s son.”

After all, technically, he was supposed to be a seven-year-old boy with the mentality of a five-year-old, wasn’t he? He shouldn’t know these kinds of things, right?

Caitlin gaped at him. “A… a bastard is… that is…”

She tried to explain, but she couldn’t find the words. It was as if she had finally seen for herself that she was dealing with a child and not an enemy soldier. Theon watched with hidden glee as she struggled, but Lord Stark placed a hand on her shoulder, a stormy look in his gaze. Then, he turned and gave him and Robb a tight smile.

“Let us eat.”

The rest of the dinner proceeded quietly, with tense silence filling the air. Only Little Sansa broke it, squealing happily whenever her food projectiles hit their intended target. Theon, for his part, enjoyed the food immensely. He thought this world lacked spices, but it seemed that the cook had been stingy in adding anything extra to the food that was sent to his room.

“Hey Theon!” Robb said, pulling at Theon’s hands when he finished eating. “Come with me! I want to show you something!”

The older boy was about to refuse – he wanted to go back to his room and go back to sleep, his stomach was too full – when he froze.

Sleep was probably a bad idea right about now.

He slowly nodded his head.

The red-haired boy lit up like a lamp, practically exuding joy from every pore. Theon grimaced at the boy’s open delight; was he perhaps a little _too_ mean with the boy?

“Where will you go?” Lord Stark said, and Robb stopped dragging Theon away from the table.

Theon waited for the younger boy to explain himself, but Robb only bit his tongue and looked away from his father’s gaze.

 _‘It’s a secret!’_ He heard Robb think, loudly.

As if he could hear his son’s thoughts, Lord Stark laughed merrily and nodded his head. Lady Stark, for her part, looked like she swallowed a lemon.

 _‘His influence.’_ He heard her think, but he wasn’t sure if she meant him or Jon.

“Don’t leave Winterfell’s borders, and make sure to come back quickly.” He told his son; Theon saw him nod his head discreetly towards Jory Cassel, who was standing behind him.

The man straightened his shoulders and nodded back.

 _‘Sneaky.’_ Theon thought, but appreciated the man’s protective instinct nonetheless.

Robb nodded enthusiastically then proceeded to drag Theon out of the hall. Theon followed him quietly, while the boy chatted about everything – his classes, his sister, his father, Old Nan, Jon, his mother, his sister again.

By the time their feet stopped moving, they were in a forest that Theon had only caught small glimpses of when he first arrived. The Godswood.

Robb took Theon’s hand gently, and they walked together, this time in silence.

Then, they stopped.

“Wow.” Theon breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s beautiful.”

And it was. Robb had guided him to a natural spring, filled with black water. A large tree loomed over the pond, and hundreds of tiny little fireflies floated around the lake.

“Do you like it?” Robb asked after a while, voice small and hesitant.

Theon chuckled, biting his lip to try and keep from screaming in joy as the black waters called out to him _my sweet water-child._ There were other pools, he realized, and they all comforted him – _sang_ to him. He didn’t realize how much he missed the ocean until the waters reached out to him.

“I love it.” He whispered back. Theon shuddered unconsciously, and realized suddenly that he was cold.

The red-haired boy blinked, then paled. He took Theon’s cold hands into his warm ones and rubbed it gently. “I am sorry! I didn’t let you bring a proper cloak with you! Let’s share!”

Then, the boy opened his large cloak, throwing himself next to Theon and cuddling him. Theon thanked him, and turned his body towards Robb, enjoying the innocent warmth.

 _‘You’re going to be dangerous when you grow up,’_ Theon thought to himself, but somehow doubted it. Even now Theon could see that the red haired child was going to grow up a pillar of good morals and manners, even if he was a little fussy and demanding.

Robb was quiet for a while, and Theon took that moment to appreciate the beauty that surrounded them. Unbidden, his brain began to assess the trees around them for suitability.

Too old, too dry, too yellow…

His eye fell on a thick, lonely branch that was settled next to the large tree that loomed over the pond. Something felt right about it.

But how can he bring it back with him without looking crazy?

“Theon,” Robb suddenly called out, and the Siren-hybrid turned to face him but the other boy wasn’t looking at him. Theon cocked his head to the side; was Robb – blushing?

What was he planning on saying?

“I _know_ that Father took you away from your home, from your family.” The little boy began.

 _‘Oh it’s one of those conversations,’_ Theon thought grumpily to himself, preparing to move away from the other boy. He didn’t want to discuss the fact that he was a hostage right now. Only, Robb’s hands were wrapped around his waist like iron manacles.

“And I _know_ we can’t replace your family. I know that this is nothing like the ocean you know, I know that I can’t be your brother, but… But you’re going to be staying here for a long time, and I want you to be comfortable. I want you to think of me as your family – I want you to give us a chance to make you happy.”

Then, as if he hadn’t just said the most cheesy, embarrassing words Theon had ever heard in his life, he continued quietly, “Can you?”

Theon was going to refuse, but his tongue refused to move. He thought carefully about Robb’s words, and resisted the urge to imitate a tomato himself.

 _‘Oh it’s one of_ those _conversations,’_ He realized, understanding.

Then, slowly, carefully, he nodded his head.

“I will try.” He said and was surprised to find that he meant it. Maybe not with the rest of the Starks, but maybe Robb…

Maybe this young, hopeful child will be a true friend to him.

Robb smiled at him, and if Theon thought he looked like a lamp before, he was now the sun, shining bright and blinding. Theon closed his eyes and prepared for the boy’s choking hug.

 _‘I am so glad I went with Jon’s suggestion.’_ He heard Robb think. _‘I don’t think Theon would’ve like a tour of Winterfell as much.’_

Maybe Jon wasn’t so bad either, he decided as he hugged Robb back.

*

Later, when Theon and Robb walked back to their rooms, Theon snuck back out again.

He retraced his steps, and managed to find the black pool again. He grabbed the branch and shoved it inside his makeshift satchel. Then, he kneeled over the pool and looked into his reflection.

He used a small knife to prick his finger, and watched as it dropped onto the waters below.

Then, slowly, his reflection began to dissipate. Another face began to form slowly, as if someone was painting it with watercolors. The face was slightly different than what he remembered, the details and lines were deeper and more pronounced than he thought it will be.

Alannys’s face changed when she saw him. She didn’t look as old, or as tired – rather, she looked brilliant and young and just the way he remembered her.

 _“Finally,”_ She breathed out, in Mermish. _“My beautiful son, my perfect Theon.”_

Robb was right; Theon was stuck here for the foreseeable future. Why shouldn’t he try to grab a little joy for himself? Why should he abstain and hurt himself when he had the power to be happy?

 _“Mother,”_ He said, slowly, relishing the way the words slipped over his tongue. It’s been too long since he used it. _“I’ve missed you.”_

_“Me too, my son – more than you can ever understand.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kind words <3  
> It means more to me than I could ever explain, so I've powered through to give you the newest chapter as soon as I could! Thank you sooooo much (♥ω♥*).  
> So what did you guys think? I feel like Alannys and Euron's scene needs a bit more of a punch, but I couldn't think of anything other else to make it feel creepier -- god I need to improve my skills. Robb is such a little gentleman; I am kind of proud of what the scene is supposed to be, but I think the wording could be slightly improved?  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter <3


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

Lessons

 

Theon stared at the old man with bleary, blank eyes.

“Well then, young Theon.” Said Maester Luwin, clearing his throat. “Can you tell me what you know of your education? I am afraid our letters to the Iron Islands have been… well, we haven’t received a response yet.”

“Mhm.” He responded with little interest, briefly touching the man’s thoughts with his mind. It was unfortunate that such a ‘well-educated’ and ‘well-traveled’ man thought that he was _‘ill-bred’_ and _‘barbarian’_ and what not.

He couldn’t bring himself to care about this little man or what he believed too much. What could this man teach him that his tutors hadn’t covered back when he was in his original world?

“Theon?” Maester Luwin called out again, as if repeating the young boy’s name was going to make Theon any more willing to respond.

“Don’t you remember what you were taught?” Robb asked him, not unkindly.

“He probably doesn’t.” Jon said, voice full of doubt.

“Theon has only recently woken up boys, it would be normal for him to not remember much…” Added Maester Luwin, and he didn’t bother hiding his satisfaction.

Theon felt a surge of pride run through him at that unspoken challenge.

“I was taught many things.” He insisted, but refused to elaborate.

The Maester’s face was beginning to change colors, and Theon wondered how long it would take until he exploded in hot, red rage.

“Very well then,” The Maester said, eyebrows meeting in a quiet, furious frown. “Let us see what you know about the Great Houses—”

“Useless.” Theon cut in. “Why should I know any of them? In normal circumstances, the Iron Islands self-govern and have no need of any interactions with the main land or the ‘great houses’. At most, a third son like myself will only interact with merchants, you see.”

Robb and Jon were gaping at his open disrespect to their ‘teacher’.

Maester Luwin’s eyes narrowed. “Be that as it may, you are your father’s heir—”

“Am I? I have an older sister.” He responded bitterly.

“She is a woman—”

“That doesn’t strip her of her right to inherit, or fight me for the inheritance.” Theon said, proudly showing his teeth in a bloodthirsty smile.

Maester Luwin’s face turned another shade of red, Theon noted with no little amusement.

“We will visit this subject at another time.” Maester Luwin finally said and Theon knew he intended to punish him in some form or another. “But as long as you take lessons with me, you will learn of the Great Houses, starting with the Starks.”

He likely wanted to somehow inspire some form of reverence or force an understanding that the Starks, his jailors, were better than him, barbarian and ill-bred.

“What is their sigil?”

“A grey direwolf on a white field.” He stated, parroting the answer he read in the man’s mind.

“What is their words?”

“Winter is coming.” He said with a sly smile, looking at the man’s eyes intently.

Like that, Theon continued to answer every question the man asked him. To Maester Luwin’s credit, despite the fact he was gritting his teeth in complete anger, he never exploded or screamed at him.

“Very well,” Maester Luwin said, taking a deep breath. “Your knowledge of the Great Houses seems to be… acceptable. Let us explore your other talents.”

Then, as if he was intent on humiliating Theon – which he knew he was – Maester Luwin began firing one question after the other, ranging from complicated mathematics to natural sciences. Those, Theon didn’t need to cheat; he was an excellent arithmancy student back in Beauxbatons and an even better alchemist, which required a strong foundation in natural science.

By the time they were finished, the candle has already burned through, indicating that the class time was over. Maester Luwin had a defeated look on his face, making him look even more aged.

“… who taught you all of this?” The man asked and Theon had to give him credit for not assuming he was cheating, which he did do in the beginning.

“Books.” Theon answered, extremely pleased with the fact he had inherited this world’s Theon’s ability to read – otherwise, this excuse would have been extremely flimsy. “The lesson is over, isn’t it? May we be excused?”

The man waved his hand, exuding a gloomy cloud that seemed to oppress all those around him. Theon knew he was wondering how a child could possibly have the same level of knowledge as him and he resisted the urge to laugh wildly.

It’s not like he could tell him that he was actually dealing with an adult stuck in a child’s body anyway.

Beyond pleased with his accomplishment, Theon stood up and skipped out of the room, making sure to make as much noise as he could. The man flinched with every sound Theon made, painfully reminded of his presence and his recent, shameful loss.

After Theon left the room, he heard the sound of shuffling feet and quickly, he was joined by two children on either sides.

“That was amazing!” Robb said, eyes wide and right arm right arm wrapped tight around Theon’s left one. He probably knew that the older boy was planning on running away the minute he could. “Theon you’re so smart!”

Jon grunted, but Theon caught a glimmer of admiration in those grey eyes and he found himself puffing up despite himself.

“Thank you.” He said, enjoying the praise. Upon seeing the happy smile on Theon’s face, Robb continued dishing out praise, “You’re so pretty and smart! Theon, you are absolutely perfect!”

Theon deflated at that.

“I am not pretty! I am a boy!” Theon argued, trying to wrench his arm free from Robb’s iron grip. “At least say handsome!”

The red-haired boy tilted his head. “But you are pretty?”

Theon sighed and quit his struggle; there wasn’t much use arguing with a child, especially if that child was as stubborn as Robb Stark.

“Will you join us for weapons training today?” The youngest boy in their group asked.

“No.” Theon responded flatly. Overlord Stark gave him a fortnight without weapons training and he intended to enjoy it as much as he can. But the octopus on his right side didn’t seem satisfied.

“No! Come with us to weapons training, Theon!”

Theon sighed at the way Robb butchered his name, drawing out the ‘o’ as long as he could breathe.

“I don’t want to.” Theon responded; voice as flat as he could manage.

“Theon!” Robb whined again, hugging the older boy’s arm tighter and successfully cutting off his blood circulation.

The oldest boy looked up to Jon, eyes wide and lips parting to say something, but Jon, in his typical manner, made a sound of such profound disgust that Theon felt as if he was lesser than a plankton.

“Wait…” He tried, even as the dark-haired boy turned and walked away with a huff.

Robb continued hugging his arm tightly, whining his name as he did so. Theon looked down on him and considered the consequences of using some Siren magic on him.

*

Theon wound up accompanying Robb to the training grounds.

He tried resisting, valiantly, but he underestimated the craftiness that the young redhead possessed and his ability to squeeze out a few crocodile tears.

“I am so glad you’re coming, Theon!” The lying liar said cheerfully, wiping a stray tear as he skipped next to the older boy. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t going to!”

 _‘Probably fake cry a little bit more,’_ Theon thought uncharitably, crossing his arms as he walked next to the redhead.  

Robb, like always, wasn’t bothered by Theon’s sullenness. His ability to constantly ignore Theon’s bad moods while maintaining his own cheerful one reminded him of Dimitri.

The older boy shuddered at the unusual comparison he made; just imagining his bulky friend pouting and crying was enough to send shivers down his spine. He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache creeped in.

“Poseidon’s spear…” He muttered, thoughtlessly following behind the energetic boy in front of him.

*

“You guys shouldn’t be here.” He told them, and Sienna rolled her eyes.

“You didn’t think we were going to leave you here, did you?” She responded, voice sharp like knives. She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder and stuck her nose up in the air. “Who do you think you are?”

She spoke as if Theon had run off on a luxury cruise, rather than living in makeshift tent in the middle of a forest. He felt a sudden, complete yearning for the extravagance, and safety, of Beauxbatons.

“You do realize that I am a fugitive right now, right?” He asked her, just to make sure.

“Exactly! You’re a city-boy! You’ve only ever lived in Paris and Atlantis – what makes you think you can survive _this?!_ ” She opened her arms wide, indicating to the trees that surrounded them.

“I have no choice! He murdered my mother and he kidnapped me! Him and his followers are everywhere!” Theon argued, lifting his chin resolutely. He gripped the unfamiliar wand in his hand and resisted the urge to throw it – it was the wrong wand, but it was his only line of defense, now.

Sienna opened her mouth, likely ready to verbally whip him down into submission when Dimitri finally broke his silence.

“You did have a choice.” Dimitri’s blue eyes bore into Theon’s own sea-colored eyes. He tried to look away, but Dimitri’s calloused hands kept his face in place. “You could have come to us.”

“I didn’t want to.” He reluctantly responded.

“Why? Because you didn’t want to involve us? I am a fucking Auror, Theon!” Sienna exploded, and Theon wasn’t sure what he should do – struggle against her strong-willed husband or respond back to her.

He tilted his head to the back, or rather, he tried to tilt his head. Dimitri’s strong hands kept his face, and therefore his eyes, from moving away.

“You don’t understand…” He weakly tried, looking at Sienna to avoid Dimitri’s striking eyes. “He has spies everywhere…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dimitri said, resolute. “We are your friends – your family.”

“That’s right!” Sienna said, and the angry crease between her eyes smoothed a bit while her voice softened. “So let’s go back together, okay?”

Theon’s eyes trailed between Dimitri’s striking blue ones, and Sienna’s wheat colored ones. Suddenly, his friend’s large hands finally released his face, satisfaction clear on his face.

“Your bad habit hasn’t changed at all.” Theon commented, putting off his answer.

Dimitri smiled. “Hm.”

“Theon?”

He opened his mouth to answer Sienna’s unspoken question, but there was a loud _crack!_ and they all turned towards the source of the sound, wands tightly gripped in their hands.

*

“Merlin’s beard!” Theon cursed loudly as he slammed onto a stone pillar.

Robb pulled him up. He began to pat Theon’s head, as if he was trying to banish the pain away. “Are you okay, Theon?”

“Hm.” The older boy responded, rubbing his throbbing forehead.

“What are you doing? You better start concentrating when you walk or you might get injured when you start your training!” Jon berated him, and Theon blinked in confusion.

Where did Jon come from?

Blinking through the physical pain and the daze his sudden headache had left him in, the Siren-hybrid realized that while he was busy reminiscing about the past he had somehow managed to walk all the way to the training grounds.

 _‘You should be impressed I didn’t get injured until now!’_ Theon thought grievously to himself as some visiting brats openly pointed at him and laughed between themselves.

“Okay. Sure.” He said to Jon and the boy’s face turned red in obvious anger. _‘Why are you angry?!’_

But Theon didn’t have the time to ask him; Ser Rodrik called out to the boys to line up so he could begin pairing them up for drills.

“Theon! Watch me!” Robb demanded as he followed his half-brother, throwing a quick grin towards Theon with his chest puffed up like a peacock.

 _‘He’s cute.’_ Theon thought to himself, as he mentally compared the boy to an overactive puppy. He never owned any pets himself, since he and his mother regularly moved between Paris, Greece and Atlantis, but Dimitri had a crup since they were eleven years old and Theon always considered Napoleon to be his as much as it was Dimitri’s.

His heart ached at the thought of his friend and his wife, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that they are safe. After all, he wasn’t there with them.

 _‘Maybe they will have a son and call him Theon…’_  He reassured himself, daydreaming about his friends’ possible lovechild. They were both very attractive people, and their child would probably be more than worthy of his name…

“Theon! Are you watching?!” Robb asked, and Theon nodded his head indulgingly, even though he wasn’t.

Ser Rodrik gave Robb’s head a light tap. “Pay attention! Get back into position!”

For the most part, the first part of weapons training went without a hitch. Then, during the short break that separated the time between sword drills and practice duels, a blond boy about thirteen approached him.

Ser Rodrik was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey you!” The boy said, trying to catch Theon’s attention.

Theon responded with an uninterested “Hm?” as he tried to recall the brat’s name. It was something that sounded like Seymour, but Theon was sure that it wasn’t his name.

“You!” Something-that-sounded-like-Seymour called out again, apparently not content with Theon’s vague response.

“My name is Theon.” He told the whining brat, annoyed with the constant ‘You’s the boy kept throwing around. If you’re going to talk to someone then address them by their name! That was one of the first lessons in manners that Theon had received.

He internally scoffed at the low level of education these children received.

“I… I know that!” Something-that-sounded-like-Seymour responded, blush creeping on his face.

Theon gave him a wide smile full of teeth, like a shark. “Then why haven’t you been using my name?”

The teenager stuttered, trying to find his words. An older boy, probably his brother or cousin going by their similar coloring and face structure, scoffed at the weak display.

“Semar.” The older boy called out, voice tight. Theon knew that tone; he used it himself many times when dealing with the younger students as a Prefect: _Don’t do something stupid_.

But Semar didn’t hear the warning laced in his relative’s tone. Instead, he took it as a challenge.

“Why aren’t you training with the rest of us?” He asked, raising his chin up.

“No reason.” Theon responded, still giving him his sunny smile.

Semar shifted his weight from one leg to another and looked away from Theon’s toothy smile. He tried to keep his voice even and strong, but it came out weak and uncertain. “It’s probably because you’re just a hostage.”

The Siren-hybrid’s smile dimmed at that hated word. _‘Why do people keep bringing that up? Do you think I am stupid enough to forget that I have a sword hanging above my neck? Why are you antagonizing a child anyway you useless teen! I’d whip you into shape if we were in Beauxbatons.’_

Slightly energized by his previous memories of teaching proper behavior to the rare unruly Beauxbatons student, Theon increased his smile’s brightness. “If that’s what you say.”

He chuckled quietly to himself as the boy’s face began to change colors. When someone is trying to put you down, being agreeable is probably the most satisfying decision a person could choose.

It’s proper manners, and it has the double advantage of being absolutely and completely infuriating at the same time.

“You—you!”

“My name is Theon.” He patiently reminded the boy and Semar exclaimed loudly, finally exploding.

“Pick up your sword you, you _heathen_!”

Theon’s eyebrows rose up; what kind of a teenager used words like ‘heathen’?

A quick scan of his mind confirmed it; it wasn’t his words, but his uncle’s – a bitter man who didn’t manage to rise up during both wars.

“I don’t have a sword.” He said, opening his arms wide as if to confirm that fact.

Semar took two steps backwards then threw himself towards Theon. The younger boy, not expecting the sudden attack, raised his arms up to defend himself and closed his eyes, resigned.

_‘Shit! I can’t use my Siren magic with so many eyes on us!’_

 Yet, the pain he was expecting never arrived. Instead, Theon heard Jon’s voice, lower than usual, and the _thwack thwack_ of flesh smacking against something hard.

He lowered his arms hesitantly and opened his eyes to see Jon grasping at his head while Semar gripped at his chin.

“Attacking an unarmed person is dishonorable!” Jon said, with all the stature and strength of Lord Stark. He straightened his back and glared hard at Semar.

“You bastard!” Semar shouted, clutching at his red chin as he did so. He tried to throw himself towards Jon this time, but his relative grasped him by the shoulders before he could.

“Brother!” Semar exclaimed, looking back towards his brother and recoiling at the tightly contained anger that was drawn on the older boy’s face.

“Enough Semar. Father would be disappointed with you.”

The younger blond had the decency to look ashamed, looking down and away from Theon and Jon.

“What is happening here?”

Everyone in the training grounds froze as Lord Stark’s rich baritone echoed in the suddenly too quiet grounds.

 _‘Oh now you’re quiet aren’t you?’_ Theon thought bitterly as he looked towards the large man. On one hand, he considered using his power of persuasion but a nagging voice in the back of his head told him not to – what if he failed again? Would that be a confirmation that Lord Stark is immune to his powers? Or would it prove that he is losing his voice?

Fear clogged up his throat, and instead of _charmspeak_ he decided to play another card. He crossed his arms on his chest and observed from the edge of his vision as Robb approached Jon. “Nothing happened, Lord Stark – it’s just a misunderst—”

“Jon.”

Lord Stark’s clear voice cut through Theon’s half-baked excuse and he found himself closing his mouth unintentionally, waiting for the man to speak.

His dark-haired son turned away.

“Father, it’s not his fault!” Robb rushed to defend his half-brother, shifting so he was now standing in front of him. “Semar tried to hit Theon, but Jon protected him!”

“It’s true.” Theon whispered, finding his voice at last.

Lord Stark sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But you threw the first punch, didn’t you Jon?”

 _‘Well, technically he threw his head.’_ Theon thought to himself and watched as Jon pushed Robb away so he was standing in front of his father with nothing and no one between them.

“Yes.” Jon said. “Semar’s actions were dishonorable. Theon had done nothing to deserve such an attack.”

“But that doesn’t excuse the fact you attacked first, Jon.” Lord Stark stated, and Theon was beginning to have a bad feeling about where this conversation was heading.

“Lord Stark.” He said, standing up from his bench. “Jon only came between myself and Semar and I believe—”

“You believe or you know?”

“I…” Theon looked down. He knew what Lord Stark was trying to tell him; don’t get involved with something if you don’t know the facts.

Lord Stark was probably gearing up to punish Jon. Theon couldn’t let that happen, not when the boy only tried to protect him from Theon’s own work – after all, if the hybrid hadn’t baited Semar the way he did then the boy would’ve probably gotten bored and left him after a while.

“Lord Stark.” Theon said resolutely, squaring his shoulders as Lord Stark’s eyes settled on him. “I know that Jon isn’t at fault.”

“Lord Stark, Lord Greyjoy is correct.” Semar’s brother quietly commented, his body shaking despite his steady voice. “My brother is young – I should have stopped him; the blame lies with me.”

“Thank you, Lord Tallhart.” Lord Stark said, but his eyes did not leave Jon’s lone figure. “But my son should’ve known better.”

He stressed the word son, and it meant something to both Robb and Jon but before Theon could even think about inquiring about it, Lord Stark turned to face him.

“Theon,” He said, voice only slightly kinder than before. “Go back to your room. You may spend the remainder of your day as you wish.”

 _‘So he’s telling me to stay in my room and not to get out.’_ Theon surmised. He opened his mouth to argue, but Robb shook his head from behind his father. The hybrid was going to ignore the redhead’s demand, but words failed him when Jon’s steely grey eyes settled on him.

_‘Don’t do anything stupid.’_

It was strange, being on the other side of that demand.

He sighed and turned away, walking back to his room. At least now he had some time to play with that broken branch he recovered from the Godswood. Besides, why should he care about the drama that occurs within this family? He was, after all, only a hostage.

As soon as he manages to get a wand, to understand what was going on in here, he was going to leave.

But his heart ached with every step he took and his eyes watered involuntarily – it truly is a curse, being a child.

*

That branch was a bust. Theon knew it would be – it was a dead branch he found on the ground after all, but his experiment proved something to him; that tree had extremely good potential, and if he could get his hand on a fresh branch then he could possible create a wand that could rival his second one, the one he made from the pear tree that grew in his mother’s garden.

Which was why he was trying to sneak out now. That tree obviously held some sort of significance to the Starks, so he couldn’t just break a branch off in broad daylight.

But his feet took him towards Jon’s room.

“Jon?” He called out, pushing the door.

It was open.

He called out the boy’s name again and stepped into the dimly lit room. Upon finding the boy, he nearly bit a hole through his tongue as he tried to control his words.

“Fuck! Shit!” He says, unable to stop himself as he walked towards Jon. The boy was laying on the ground, face first, leaving his injured back open to view. “Are you okay? What happened?”

The younger boy didn’t answer him, but Theon didn’t need him to. Being Lord Stark’s son, even an illegitimate one, meant that he had to uphold certain standards.

If he failed to uphold them, then he’d be punished.

Apparently, punching Semar for Theon’s sake counted as a failure.

“Shit. Let me help you.” He said, reaching down to his belt. But his hands grasped at nothing and he remembered – he had neither a wand nor any potions. “Okay fine, I’ll just use water to clean those then.”

Jon muttered something even as Theon began to search Jon’s room for water he could use. Healing was beyond any Siren’s capabilities, but any fool could effectively clean injuries using water.

“What?”

“—et out… Get out!”

Theon reached out to put his hand on Jon’s shoulder, but the younger boy seemed to gain some sort of strength because he turned towards Theon with tears and snot on his face and somehow managed to push Theon out of the room.

Theon watched in shock as the door slammed in front of his face.

For a couple of moments, he stood there in shock. Then, a fierce desire burned within him.

He will leave this godforsaken world. He will find a way to go back home.

But first, he will help Jon Snow because no child deserved to feel that alone, that unloved. And to do that, he needed power – he needed a wand.

Theon turned away and began to walk towards the Godswood. He saw a stablehand stumbling around, drunk.

 **“Hello. Can you do me a favor?”** He asked, _charmspeak_ flowing smoothly out from within himself.

The man looked at him, eyes hazy and smile wide on his lips.

He nodded his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaack! Is this chapter weird? God I hope not. It's a bit heavy on the conversation which I am not fond of, but I was quite surprised by the amount of content it contained? Like, there was supposed to be a fluffy moment between Jon and Theon but then my Muse was like nope. Not here, you won't.  
> At any rate, writing children is hard. I think one more chapter in their current age and then I am going to teenage-ify them.   
> To clarify something: Theon did get a branch in the previous chapter, but it was a dead branch (i.e. one that's been knocked off the tree for one reason or another. That's what he means by dead branch.)  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> I found this while digging through my files. Decided to put it up here so I don't forget about it again.


End file.
